Once Again
by Miss Toughie
Summary: Randy had been out of control for years, but he always had one man willing to help pull him back together through it all. But when Randy ends up suspended will Punk be willing to stay there for his lover once again.
1. Chapter 1

_A/N: Everybody should already know that I own nothing, but just in case, here's you're reminder._

* * *

Randy grunted as he threw his boots back into his bag. The fuckers could have at least told him he was suspended before he started getting ready for the show that night. Hell, a phone call before he ever got on the god damn plane would have been wonderful. But no, they, in there infinite wisdom, had decided to make him get here and mostly ready to walk down the ramp before they opened their worthless mouths with that horrible news.

"Guess this means you're using again aren't you?" a soft voice called to him from the doorway. Randy knew that voice, he lived for that voice. And now he couldn't even bring himself look at the man it belonged to, terrified to see the disappointment and sadness that would be there when he looked into those soulful eyes. Just like all the other times before. He'd fucked up and he knew it.

And unfortunately, so did Punk.

"Why do you keep doing this Randy? To yourself, to me, to us?" The sorrow filling those words was heartbreaking. Randy didn't have a response for that. All he could do was hang his head and let the shame wash over him as he stood with his back to his lover.

Time seemed to slow as the silence stretched on, finally being broken by the sound of a door closing quietly. He knew Punk had left when he heard that sound, and he could only hope that it wasn't for the last time. How many more chances was the man going to give him?

* * *

Punk entered the catering area as a hush fell over the roster. How many times had he experienced this? Those pitying looks, the sudden silence when he walks through the door.

He'd lost count. After all, it had been five years hoping, _wanting_ him to change, and it didn't seem to be happening.

Even though he knew everyone expected him to be upset and freaking out, he just didn't see the point. It wasn't the first time he had been down the path with his partner.

Besides that, he already knew it was happening. The subtle changes in his mood, the sneaking out when he thought Punk was asleep, snapping at him over little things. And then there were the pill bottles he stumbled upon while searching Randy's bag.

He knew very well what was happening, he just hadn't wanted to admit it. But now he didn't have a choice.

A heavy sigh escaped from Punk as the silence stretched on while he was filling his plate. Every second causing the weight on his heart to increase. He turned and headed to an empty table, taking in the stares with his head held high. Of course that didn't stop the wave of depression running over him when he finally settle into his seat.

Just as he picked up his fork, a blur of color entered his peripheral, right before a muscular body filled the chair next to him.

Cena.

Punk narrowed his eyes when he was flashed those famous dimples, but nothing further was said or done between the two men as they ate their meal in silence. He wasn't stupid. He was well aware that John was there to support him, but they had been friends long enough for the older man to know that didn't require words for Punk.

Punk continued to contemplate his problem as he took bite after bite. The ironic part of it all was that Cena was probably the best person to show his support. Hell, he had been friends with Randy before Punk had ever met the two. If anyone should be there for him, it should be John.

After both men had finished their meal, Punk looked at John, a simple "Thank you" passing his lips. John only nodded, acknowledging that he had been heard. But just after standing up and grabbing his plate, he heard that compelling voice break into his thought process.

"I know it's hard Punk, but you knew what you were getting into when you first got with him. Just remember that." John didn't look up from his food while he gave his small bit of advice, but that somehow made what he was saying sink in a little further. Punk stood there frozen for a few seconds before gulping down the emotion that constricted his throat. Not knowing what to say or do, he carried his trash to the bin and promptly left room the stifling room.

He managed to make it to his private locker room before the tears started silently flowing down his face. Everyone out there might already know how much this was all hurting him, but he would be damned before he let them see just how much.

Settling on the bench with his head hanging, Punk rapidly gulped in air trying to get his wayward emotions under control. His thoughts drifted back over to what Cena had said to him just before his exit. The worst part of it all was that he was right. He had known exactly what he was getting when he had fallen for the troubled man.

It's wasn't a healthy relationship to the outside world, especially in the beginning. But it actually has been a blessing in disguise, especially for Randy. He had been spiraling down, he'd already overdosed once and was well on his way to doing it again. He should have been a lost cause, he should have just been given up on, but that just wasn't an option for Punk. Something about Randy pulled him towards the out of control superstar. He dove head first into the storm that was Orton's life and he grabbed hold of him and refused to let go. Randy had told him on many occasions that he had saved him. That he kept saving him time and time again.

The buzzing caught his attention. He knew it would be his lover's face displayed on the screen when he pulled his phone from his pocket. But he couldn't handle a conversation with him right now.

Yes, Punk had been doing this for five years but he didn't know if he could do it anymore.

* * *

_A/N: Yes I know this is short, but I really want this to be a multiple chapter story. But before I got my hopes up, I thought I would post this opening chapter to get a feel for people's interest. I hope it's something at least a few people enjoy. Please let me know, whether with a review, PM, favorite or follow. As always, thanks for reading!_


	2. Chapter 2

Randy found himself laying on the empty bed again, watching smoke rise up towards the ceiling, twisting and twirling around in the most intricate of patterns. Punk always hated when he smoked in the house. He would always nag and complain in his snarky way that Randy always secretly enjoyed. Hell, most off the time he would push his lover just to hear those blunt comments. Not that he would ever let his man know any of that. But since the man hadn't answered any of his calls for days, he's not exactly worried about Punk coming home to see it.

Randy snorted on the last puff of smoke for that cigarette. Fuck, he'd screwed up. He knew he had been playing with fire, but it all started piling up on him again. Years of waiting for a push, injury on top of injury, it seemed like a never ending cycle of hell. The only time it felt tolerable was when he was with his lover.

And Punk was on the top of his game, WWE champion and fulfilling all the obligations that the title carried with it. He would never begrudge his lover of that though. He deserved it, Randy was well aware of all the years his man had spent pushing his way through the indies and even more aware of all the time he had been stuck and toiling on the under card. Unfortunately, all of that just left him with less and less time to spend with Randy. So he turned to the one other thing that made getting though his life possible.

That bliss he experienced from the first snort, the calmness he always felt after a good hit of weed, they just made everything better. It wasn't like it had been years ago when he would take whatever he could and however much he could just for the party. Just for the fun, the rush of doing something he knew he wasn't supposed to. It wasn't like that for him anymore. It was all about doing what he had to do to make it to the next show, through the never ending press conferences and interviews. That's where the pills came into being. His fucking downfall.

He could always handle the weed and the coke, he was always able to say no to them. It was always the fucking pills that got him caught. He always told himself he only needed one here and there when he first got the bottle, but he knew better. It always started with one every couple of days, then the habit would start growing. Before he was aware of it, he would be popping five or six a day just so he never came back down into the searing pain that seemed to never go away. It wouldn't be long after that, that he would be pulled aside for "random drug testing" and then read the riot act. It had happened many times over the years, he would always get his hand smacked just enough to make him pull back on his using.

The difference this time was the fucking steroids they discovered.

It was a god damn double edge sword. Everyone new the look the suits wanted, hell even the fans were well aware of the expectations. And he was always praised on having that look, and upper management always looked the other way when he did it too, until it became so obvious that they couldn't ignore it any longer. Randy couldn't deny that the suspensions hurt. As did the threats to his career, the threats to take away what he loved doing.

But the look in Punk's eyes when it couldn't be hidden anymore would always hurt more. On the surface, Punk never gave up his disbelief and never ending support when everyone would be whispering behind Randy's back. But sometimes, Randy would catch him looking at him and Randy would be able to see the pain pouring out of those brown depths. Punk knew him better than anyone else, of course Punk always knew when he was using. But his ability to deny was right up there with the best of them.

How much had he hurt his lover, his _straight edge _lover, with his actions. Yet he would always be forgiven, they would fight, make up, and move on with their lives, always ignoring the elephant in the room. But not this time apparently. Punk hadn't talked to him anymore at the arena before Randy had packed his bags and left. And he hadn't made his way back to their shared hotel room after the show either. A quick text to Cena had confirmed his suspicions that Punk was leaving on the house show loop without having the confrontation with him.

That's when he started making the calls, leaving the depressing voice mails and heart breaking text messages begging for something in return. And now, four days later, he still had nothing in return. He was stuck wandering around their empty house, staring at pictures holding happier memories of the two and imbibing on the two vices left to him per company policy, smoking and drinking.

Reaching out to take another swig of the bottle at his bedside, he quickly discovered it was empty. Grudgingly, he pulled himself up and managed to climb out of bed before stumbling his way down the steps and into the bare, darkened kitchen. It was never like that when Punk was home. His loveable jerk would never admit it, but he absolutely loved cooking and had a small addiction to the Food Network. Whenever they were home, Randy could always count on various home cooked meals.

Now, staring silently at the empty room, he could almost see a picture of the two of them, he at the counter, jokingly teasing Punk about the vegan diet he enjoyed, and Punk pacing back and forth between the cook top, oven and recipe book laying open of the granite surface, a small smirk on his face as he took Randy's teasing in stride.

Shaking his head slightly to push away the images, Randy continued his journey to the refrigerator. Taking stock of the contents, Randy let another sigh roll off his chest when he saw the bare shelves and drawers. He would have to go shopping, something he rarely did due to Punk's love of cooking, and therefore shopping for whatever ingredients he needed. But Punk wouldn't be there this time around to do any of that. Allowing himself to sink a little farther into his misery after acknowledging that fact, Randy reached for two of the dark, brown bottles before more of less slamming the door shut.

When his eyes adjusted, the image before him had his heart stuttering until it almost came to a stop. There, underneath some magnet advertising the Chicago Cubs was a snapshot of he and Punk. He couldn't remember exactly when the photo had been taken, but what he couldn't miss was the absolute joy shinning out of Punk's dark eyes and the love Randy could see in his own looking back at him as he stood behind Punk and wrapped his arms loosely around his chest.

God they were such opposites. Punk was staring at the camera with a smile so big that it took over his entire face while Randy was simply smirking as always. Randy hardly ever smiled, Punk never complained about it though. His partner would simply make fun of him in that loveable way he had about how strange Randy always looked when he actually did smile. Then he would always say something about how much he liked Randy's smirk, usually capping off the statement with a soft press of lips against his own. Randy was left laughing at himself, he did look pretty wired when he tried to smile.

Damn, Randy thought as he stared longer at the photo, even their tattoos showed how different their personalities were. Where Randy was dark and brooding, and everything had a specific place so it was all nice and orderly, Punk was colorful and out going, almost to the point of annoying, crazy and disorganized so his plans always seemed to ended up a hectic mess.

Randy didn't know when, but he had moved himself at some point so he was now leaning against the counter, but he could stay standing anymore even with the added support. He slowly slid down, the edges and knobs of the cabinet digging in and scrapping across his back. He barely felt any of it. His gaze never left that picture, his focus never left the look on his lover's face in the absent mindedly snapped picture. It wasn't until his body slammed onto the tile that he noticed the picture becoming blurry. And it wasn't until a choked sob escaped his lips, that he realized it was his tears causing the blur.

What the hell was he doing. What was he doing to his lover and to himself. He broke his staring match with the picture, letting his gaze slip down to the cold bottles still pressed into his palms. Did he really want to do this again, did he really want to fall back into how his life was before Punk. He silently started flashing back through all those dark memories. It wasn't pretty images that filled his mind. It was a life that consisted of a constant mixture of pills and alcohol. He was going to kill himself and everyone knew it, even him. Punk had saved him though before it came to that, and no matter how many times he screwed up, Punk just kept saving him. But what was he going to do if he didn't save him this time.

Letting out a guttural scream, Randy hurled the beer at the wall. He watched the foaming liquid slid down the wall as he felt the silent tears fall down his face.

* * *

_A/N: It's been forever I know and I have no clue how it happened. I never have been a big fan of real life so I'm just blaming it. My plan is for no more ridiculous delays in updating though, you all deserve better than that and I hope I get to hear something from you all! Thanks in advance for any and all feedback as always!_


	3. Chapter 3

His house smelled like stale beer and cigarettes. He wasn't shocked by this or anything remotely close to that. Randy was always great at self-destruction. Leaving his bag by the door and working his way through the dark rooms, Punk found it hard to believe that Randy was even living in the house. Maybe he had gone to stay with his parents for a few days?

No that can't be right, even if they were fighting Randy wouldn't just take off without letting him know where he went. He might not have answered all the phone calls or replied to any texts, but that didn't mean he didn't read them or listen to all the voicemails. He always had a weakness for Randy's voice, so husky to the point he sounded hoarse occasionally. Perhaps he just went for a drive.

As soon as the thought crossed his mind, Punk stilled as terror washed over him. If Randy was drinking so much the house smelled like it, it was impossible for him to be able to drive safely. No matter what they were going through, Punk didn't think he would be able to take receiving a phone call telling him his lover was in an accident, or even worse.

Punk quickened his pace until he reached the door to their attached garage. Seeing Randy's snow white Bentley and sports bike parked inside, convinced Punk that his boyfriend was still somewhere in their home. He must be upstairs somewhere, never mind the fact that is was ten in the morning, past the time Punk would expect him to be awake. Of course, if Randy were drowning his problems in booze, it would make complete sense that he would be still be in bed, Punk reminded himself bitterly.

Well, he was partially right. Randy was upstairs, he just wasn't in bed. No, he was passed out cold in the middle of the hallway.

"You have got to be kidding me." Punk mumbled to himself. He sat down on the top stop to fully take in the image before him. This wasn't new, none of this was new, but it had been a few years since Punk had to carry his lover to bed. Looking closer at the scene, Punk noticed that a cigarette had managed to burn itself out still clutched in Randy's fingers. It was a fucking miracle he hadn't burned the damn house down, his own dumb ass right along with it. Yet another sigh escaped him, he seemed to be doing that a lot lately, as Punk stood up to make his way towards the fallen superstar.

It was quite the task, Punk wasn't weak by any stretch of the imagination, but Randy did have a few inches and even more pounds on him. But he managed somehow, the way he always did when it came to this relationship.

"Hey babe." Randy's rough voice called out to him. Punk's head shot up from where he was undoing the taller man's shoelaces.

"Hey." Punk whispered back, unsure where this was going, but for some reason knowing he didn't want to stop it.

"I love you, don't know if I told you that lately. Just thought you should know." Randy told him, the words slightly mumbled as he watched through hooded eyes.

This was it, this was the side of Randy that so few saw, so few knew about. This was the side of him that made it so hard for Punk to quit the man. Tears filled his eyes before he quickly blinked them away. "I love you too Randy." Punk whispered into the quiet room.

A small smile ghosted Randy's lips as he slipped back into slumber. Punk knew there was no chance he would be following him anytime soon though. He continued with the task of undressing the man before turning out the lights, closing the door and leaving Randy to rest in peace.

* * *

His head hurt. Badly. Bad enough that he really didn't want to sit up, he already knew that wasn't going to be pretty from past experiences. Way too many past experiences, he thought with a grimace.

This had to stop. He wanted Punk back and this sure as hell wasn't the way to do it. It was time to change, he knew that, he just didn't know how. Pulling himself up and out of bed through the agony his body was experiencing wasn't exactly enjoyable, but a shower was a must at this point.

After stumbling his sleep-hazed brain through the steps of showering and dressing, Randy reached for his phone, hoping against the odds to find _something _on there from Punk. A call, a text, anything to let him know that the love of his life was still thinking about him.

Nothing.

Randy did his best to not get so upset about that fact. It always started out that way. Then he would convince himself he just needed one drink to calm his nerves. One turned into two, then three. Before he realized it, he would end up a drunken mess, tears sliding down his face as he tried to call Punk again and again, never getting an answer.

Today couldn't be like that. Today would be different, today he was going to keep it together. He was going to keep the promise he made to himself while staring at that picture on the refrigerator last night. He wasn't going to fall back into his old ways, Punk deserved better, and he was going to give it to him. He would change, somehow, someway, he was going to become a better man. And he would start by cleaning the place up. Punk should be back from the house loop this evening. Hopefully he would still come home, he couldn't avoid Randy forever. They had a life together, it wouldn't be that easy to just walk away from it. And Randy sure as hell wasn't going to ease the process for him. He would fight until the bitter end before he let Punk go anywhere.

After a shower and dressing, his resolved seemed to only strengthen. All he could seem to think about was how he was determined to change, to make things better between him and Punk again. Unfortunately, that just seemed like a far off dream at this point. But it would work out, they always figured it out.

Halfway down the stairs, Randy started to notice the changes around him. He had heard the noises coming from the television below, but he had just assumed that he had left it on like he had on so many other nights. But now the noises were changing, the channels were changing. There should only be one person who could get into his house. Sprinting down the last few steps, Randy flung himself around the corner and found himself in the same room with his lover for the first time in too long.

Punk was leaning into the corner of the couch, arms across his chest, remote in one hand. Randy allowed his gaze to slide over Punk, taking in all the features he had already committed to memory. His eyes ran over the sleek muscles of his legs, countless tattoos covering his arms, the scruffy beard adorning his face. Finally, they settled on the shinning glint of silver resting against his lip. How many nights had he spent tracing that ring with his tongue, touching it softly with his fingertips while they were nestled together on the couch. He never knew what it was about that delicate piercing, but it constantly drew his attention. And just like with so many other things, Punk simply rolled his eyes and let Randy do as he pleased.

Slowly, Punk's head turned towards him until they were staring at each other eye to eye. As blue met brown, try as he might, Randy couldn't get a read off of his lover's eyes. And that fact scared him more than many anything. Punk's eyes had always reflected his emotions. Now they just appeared dull, without any real feeling anywhere in them.

Numbly, Randy made his way towards the other end of the couch, falling ungracefully into the cushions, never breaking eye contact with the man on the other end.

"Hi." he managed to croak out.

"Hey." was the equally quiet reply.

Randy finally broke eye contact as he licked his lips and tried to think of what he wanted to say next. He felt like he was treading into dangerous waters. Punk had always had a short fuse, but today it looked like the wrong move, the wrong word, would send him off like fireworks.

"I'm sorry." Randy whispered as he drug his eyes up to meet the brown ones again, hoping Punk would be able to see the truth shinning in his. Unfortunately, all Punk did was look away as he sighed and shook his head.

"You're always sorry Randy, but we always end up back here again and again. Nothing ever changes." Punk said, head still turned toward the television, refusing to look at Randy.

The ground slowly started crumbling beneath him. This wasn't good, this wasn't the way he wanted or expected this to go. "I want to change, I do. I just can't seem to get it straight. I want to be sober, I want to be the man you want me to be. And I will be, I promise." Randy said, as earnestly and strongly as he could manage.

Silence descended upon the two men. Punk running Randy's words through his mind over and over again as Randy held his breath wondering what Punk's response would be, hoping that it was to stand by his side and help him through this.

Finally, after a silent contemplation that left Randy shaking in fear, on the verge of breaking down, Punk slowly turned his head towards the man he loved. Randy was left speechless at seeing the tears freely flowing from Punk's eyes. Wasting no time to think through his actions, Randy moved himself across the couch and clasped Punk's face between his hands.

Pressing their foreheads together, Randy used the pads of his thumbs in an attempt to wipe away the tears. Murmuring soothing sounds, Randy continued to comfort his lover to the best of his ability. Both men stayed frozen, staring into each other's eyes and soaking up the intimacy of the moment. They shared a love that few understood and even less experienced, and they both knew how lucky they were to have found each other. The trials they had been through were enough to have broken lesser men, but somehow it had only made their connection stronger. That knowledge only made Randy less prepared for a possible future without Punk.

Finally Punk pulled away, standing up to cross the room and heading for the archway leading to the hallway. Standing up in confusion, Randy noticed for the first time the packed suitcases sitting there. At first, Randy simply thought that Punk was going to take his luggage upstairs, but that thought was quickly dashed when Punk turned back around and met him eye to eye. And the determination he saw there left him with his hopes crashing down around him.

"I'm going back out on the road Randy."

"But… But you just got here."

"No I was here this morning. I skipped out on the last house show so I could get here early, maybe talk all this out with you."

Randy couldn't move. Dread rushed threw his veins as his heart rate sped up, moving him closer to panic. He couldn't remember last night, or this morning, and he definetly didn't remember Punk being there, all he knew was that he had drank. _Like you always drink._ Randy closed his eyes when that nasty little voice rang out in his head. He might not have seen Punk while he was speaking to him, but there was no way to miss the edge to his voice.

"You sit here and tell me you want to change but you aren't changing, just like you never do no matter how many times you say you will. You want to know how I know that? Huh Randy, do you?" Punk asked him, his voice never raising, but with the power Punk was placing behind those words, it wasn't needed.

"I found you passed out in the fucking hallway. You were so damn drunk you couldn't even make it to the bed. And I just can't do this anymore. I want you better Randy, I really do, but I don't think you ever will be no matter what you say. I refuse to sit here and watch you fall apart over and over any more." Punk was openly crying now, physically falling apart in front of Randy's eyes. His instincts kept screaming at him to go across the room and grab his lover, try to make everything better. But he stayed frozen in place, well aware that those actions wouldn't be welcome.

"Maybe if you do ever manage to get it together someday, somehow, we'll be able to sit down and work this out. I still love you, I fucking hate that I do, but that's just how it is. But I won't be hurt like this over and over anymore Randy. I love you too damn much to keep watching you fall apart." Punk looked away with a shake of his head before reaching into his pocket and withdrawing his keys.

Randy watched, unable to do anything else, as Punk went through the hallway and disappeared into the kitchen. Slowly, feeling like the world was no longer spinning, Randy sank to his knees, tears cascading down his face. There was nothing he could do, nothing but stay where he was, numb and stoic, until he heard the garage door open. Slowly turning his head to look out the window facing the street, he sees the Hummer backing out the driveway. He managed to pull himself up to walk to the window, feeling like he was treading water the whole way, and watch the vehicle slowly drive away down the street. He doesn't blink, just watches the car disappear, becoming smaller and more blurry as time passes. When he finally couldn't see anything any more, he turned back to the living room, taking in the room's features, seeing nothing but he, Punk and the life they had built together.

A rage unlike any he had ever known washed over him, he couldn't control his actions, he didn't want to either. A guttural scream ripped from his chest. Suddenly, it felt like he was watching himself from the corner of the room. Watching himself tear apart the room piece by piece. A fist through the television, couches and chairs tipping over as tables flew across the room. His was out of control and he knew it. As suddenly as it all started, Randy was left drained standing in the middle of the demolished room chest heaving and eyes burning, a calm washing over him that could only be experienced when a man moved all the way through panic and emerged on the other side.

He needed a drink. He needed to forget and make it all stop and go away.

Making his way into the kitchen, Randy flung open the cabinet, grabbing the vodka. As he began tipping the bottle back, his eyes caught on something. The picture. The same picture that stopped him the night before. The picture he had looked at before trying to get up and go to bed, which he now knew he had been unsuccessful at doing. The same picture that reminded him of what he had to lose. What he already had lost.

His sight slid back to the bottle in his hand.

He loved that man and if he ever wanted him back, this wasn't how it was going to happen. Slowly, with measured movements, Randy sat the bottle down on the counter and stepped back.

He was going to do this, he had to do this. For Punk.


	4. Chapter 4

_Eighty-seven, eighty-eight, eighty-nine_

Crunch after crunch left Randy drenched in sweat, his muscles aching and his mind buzzing with nothing but the music blaring into the gym. That bliss of not thinking of anything but finishing the set, knowing that if he can just knock out another ten, he'll have made it, made it to his goal. This seemed to be all he did now. Lift weights and run on the treadmill until he was left quivering on the mat, numb and too tired to do anything or think of anything, _anyone._

Fuck, images of his lover, _ex-lover, _he unwillingly corrected himself, filled his head. Apparently he hadn't done enough yet if he could still feel the agony of that loss. Rolling over and pushing himself up Randy reached for his water bottle, hoping to cool off some before he started in on his next round.

Glancing at himself in the mirror, Randy had to admit this was probably the best he's looked in quite awhile. He might have just traded one addiction of another, but at least this addiction had some positive outcomes. Now, whenever he felt that tingling need, the familiar ache for one of those pills that always seemed to make everything better, Randy just headed to the gym and worked until everything else faded away.

This was one of the most intense work outs he had pushed himself through in awhile. Sweat dripping down his nose, muscles clenching to the verge of cramping, just hoping that it would all disappear with a little more effort. A new sound bursts through his concentration, the tone not quite meshing with the sounds of rock coursing through the sound system and into his body. His cell phone.

Pausing long enough to put done the medicine ball, Randy jogged over to the stand and read the display before sliding the button to unlock.

"Hey."

"Hey, he lives! Do you know how many times I've called and got nothing but a voicemail?"

"Not my fault you can't get the message and realize I don't want to talk to you." Randy said, a slight sneer to his voice. It might not have been right, but it wasn't his fault, the man could press his buttons without even trying, always could, even back in OVW. He'd known Cena for a long time though that the older man just let it all slide and ignored Randy's mood swings, which really did nothing to improve his temperament most of the time. When he got like that, he was looking for a fight, Punk seemed to be the only one who could ever take on his anger full force, and give his own right back, without the two men coming to blows.

"Riiiiight, like I would do something like that and give you the satisfaction." Randy could just hear the laughter in the other man's voice and it grated on his already raw nerves.

"Do you have a reason for calling? I've got shit to do."

"Nope, no reason. Just wanted to see how my oldest friend was doing."

"Just great, thanks for asking, bye now." He should have known better than to try to rush John off the phone, it never worked.

"Not so fast, buddy." Randy growled his irritation with the constant joking. "I do have some info to pass along to you." Silence then overtook the phone before a much different sounding voice uttered the words Randy was expecting yet dreading at the same time. "It's Punk."

"How… how is he?" Randy asked, unsure if he really wanted to know. What if Punk was doing better without him, or worse yet, moving on.

Cena fell silent for another beat, quickly followed by a deep inhale that John left out slowly. Randy had been friends with the man long enough to know that this was his way of calming himself before he delivered news that he would rather not say.

"Honestly, he's out of control. Running around this place, destroying everything in his path, even some people. Barely anyone can stand to be around him for any length of time these days. I don't think anyone knows how to deal with him."

Randy closed his eyes and let his head fall back on his shoulders. John was right, no one would know how to handle Punk when Punk didn't want to be handled. Randy felt the defeat settle on his shoulders, like the weight of the world.

"I don't know what you want me to say John." Randy told him, overwhelming sadness lacing every word.

"I don't know either but he's turning into a real asshole these days and I think we both know why that is." Another beat of silence. "Look, you're the only one who can help. I don't know everything that happened between the two of you and I don't need to know either, but it's getting bad and he needs you, you might be there only thing that can save him at this point. He's a sinking ship. I shouldn't be telling you this, but management is about done with him. He's skipping different events, being a real dick to fans and treating everybody in the back like shit. Hell, he made _himself_ a heel, that turn wasn't planned. The McMahon's barely tolerated him before, but now they're just looking for ways to get rid of him."

"Fuck." Randy breathed out on a stuttered breath. His man was slowly destroying everything he'd worked so hard to build for himself. He'd done this, he'd let everything get to far out of control and drug Punk along on his downward spiral, now the love of his life was the one about to pay the consequences. "I don't know what to do John."

"Yeah, I don't either. Me and him, we were making some headway, getting to be pretty good friends, but these days he barely looks at me. I try to talk to him and all I get is a sneer and a view of the back of his head as he walks away."

"I've got to fix this." And saying the words out loud drove Randy to see just how much.

* * *

_Who in the hell would think to paint walls puke green_ Punk thought as he wondered from the bathroom. Punk felt the towel he had tied around his waist slip a little as he sat down on the bed. Sighing heavily, Punk laid back on the uncomfortable mattress and ripped the fabric from his body. Laying naked and spread out over the equally ugly comforter, he could feel the cool breeze from the air conditioner creating goose flesh across his skin, the sensation sending shivers all over his body.

He was in a bad mood, had been for awhile now, and he knew it. And he knew that he was taking it out on everybody, even those who didn't really deserve it. Closing his eyes, images of bright, blue eyes filled his vision. It just pissed him off more that every time he let himself relax, every time he let his guard down, Randy instantly filled his mind. He had given up hope of stopping the images weeks ago. He just settled back and left the various pictures of random memories take over.

Evenings next to each other on the couch when they were lucky enough to be home together. Nights wrapped up in each others arms, those dark, heavily muscled limbs giving him strength and courage when he was at his lowest. Meeting each others' eyes across the locker room, silently laughing at a joke that only they would ever get.

Each new image brought about another pang of misery Punk had slowly come to realize he would always live with. None of this was supposed to happen this way.

Randy hadn't called, not even once. What the hell was that all about. That wasn't how it was supposed to happen. He was supposed to walk away, give them both a few days calm down then they would talk it all out. Every argument they had ever had ended that way, granted this was a much bigger argument than they had ever experienced together, but both of them were, admittedly high strung and temperamental. This wasn't the first time one of them had walked out, but it was the first time that they other hadn't chased them down.

He had waited for days, slowly watching them turn into weeks, waiting and hoping for that number to appear on his phone screen. He didn't know when he had given up, but at some point the had come to realize that Randy wasn't going to call. He tried his hardest to ignore how much that knowledge hurt him.

Not that he hadn't talked to anybody, no, far from it in fact. _Everybody _else in his life had, or so it seemed, felt the need to check up on him one way or another. All of which did absolutely nothing to improve his mood. He just wanted to be left alone to deal with his pain on his own, but no one seemed to get that.

His own mom and sisters hadn't given him a full day before they were blowing up his phone, going from yelling at him to get it together and go back home to crying over the whole situation and asking him if they was anything at all they could do to help. Punk rolled his eyes at the recent memories of the actions from the women in his life. They were almost as much of an emotional wreak over this whole thing as he was. Not that he would ever let anyone see him cry, no that was saved for when he was holed up in a room like this with no one else around.

As much as his family drove him insane, Randy's family was even worse. His mom cried, his dad yelled, his brother tried to reason with him until he had a constant headache and his sister was sending random texts demanding that Punk go back and fix this all. None of which was very helpful, but at least they let Punk know they still cared about him, in they're own crazy way, even if his relationship with their son and brother was over.

Even the majority of the roster had they're own special way of showing support. Some constantly asked if he needed or wanted anything, others called or texted frequently with invitations to hang out and others still just stared at him, sometimes with pity, sadness, or confusion. He hadn't ever realized other people could become so emotionally involved in a relationship that wasn't they're own.

Yes everyone was showing him their support in some way or another, trying to help him. Everyone except the one person who should be calling. And now the fucking thing was ringing again. After so many weeks, he's so sick of the damn thing ringing that he picks up the phone with the intention of letting whoever was on the other end to know just that.

"What the hell do you want?!" Punk shouted into the speaker, uncaring of who was on the other end.

"Hey babe." That gravelly voice replied, causing his heart to stutter just before sending white hot need shooting down his spine where it settled in his cock, leaving him hard and dripping with want in an instant. Damn, sexy bastard always had that affect on him. And it only infuriated him more.

"Why are you calling?" He wished his voice would have sounded strong and confident, but it only came out as an unsure whisper.

There was silence for a few beat of his rapidly fluttering heart, then a voice clearing before that deliciously sinful voice spoke into his ear again.

"I… I was just wondering how you were doing? It's been awhile."

"Yeah, and whose fault is that?" Punk could feel his ire increasing by the second. And with it the strength in the volume and tone of his voice. Who the hell did he think he was to just call up out of no where and act like they were long lost acquaintances. "You think you can just call me after weeks of silence and act like none of this ever happened! It doesn't work that way Orton."

"Look Phil, I didn't call to have it out with you. I was just worried about you and wanted to check up on you. I know you hate when people do that, but…" Randy's voice trailed off and when it came back over the line, it was lacking any power behind the words. "I just wanted, _needed,_ to hear you tell me that you were okay."

A small part of Punk wanted to give in, wanted to tell him that he was fine and there wasn't anything for him to worry about. But the larger part of him, the part of him that wanted Randy to feel as bad as he did, just wouldn't let him. Instead he replied with a shouted response that held more raw emotion than Punk was willing to admit. "If you were that fucking concerned why the hell has it taken you this long to call? I've waited for weeks, almost months, to hear your voice. But it never came. Why is that? Why didn't you care enough to call and check on me a long time ago?!" Punk was shaking with anger now. His voice had steadily grown louder and louder as his emotions became more and more out of control. By the time his rant was done, his eyes threatened to spill over with tears. He hastily swiped at his eyes in a desperate attempt to hide that fact while he waited to hear what Randy had to say back to that verbal attack.

Compete silence. Not the response he had been anticipating that's for sure. Finally, after so long that Punk feared Randy wouldn't respond, he got a soft answer, one that held as much pain in the simple words as he had been experiencing since he walked out the door of their house.

"I thought you didn't want to talk to me or see me anymore, I though that's why you left."

It was Punk's turn to stay silent, unsure what to do or say next. No matter how much pain, anger and confusion he was dealing with, there didn't seem to be any answer he could give to that.

"Look the house show loop should be over soon right? Come home at the end of it and lets talk this out. I don't know about you but I'm much better when I'm with you than I'll ever be without you."

Punk melted. Those few words were what he had been waiting for. That was what he needed, to be reminded of how much he meant to Randy.

"Yeah, okay I'll be there."

* * *

_A/N: I know I'm horrible, it's been way to long for this story, but my inspiration to write seems to be returning. As for what to write about, not so much. So if anyone has any requests for this story, please let me know and I'll see what I can do. Hope everyone enjoyed!_


End file.
